


won't be many coming home

by ineedbetterhobbies



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark if you squint, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16977693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineedbetterhobbies/pseuds/ineedbetterhobbies
Summary: The tainted air, heavy with decay, chokes all of his senses. It clings to him, a film of filth unfettered by his remaining armor. He shuffles brokenly into the street, a corporeal phantom, a living ghost with stubbornly intact flesh.The remaining people on the street look to him with accusing eyes, haunted with questions, hungry for answers.When he makes it back to New York, Tony realizes all that he's lost from the battle with Thanos.





	won't be many coming home

**Author's Note:**

> Was inspired by the Roy Orbison song by the same name. Based this fic off of the lyrics. 
> 
> I don't own the lyrics present in this work, nor do I own any of the characters.
> 
> Tony's thoughts and the lyrics are both italicized.

_Listen all you people, try and understand…._

He stumbles absently out of the makeshift craft, the world around him ending in a disorienting haze of ash and smoke. He leaves Nebula in the killing solitude of the ship, not bothering to rouse her from the glassy-eyed stupor she had fallen into. The tainted air, heavy with decay, chokes all of his senses. It clings to him, a film of filth unfettered by his remaining armor. He shuffles brokenly into the street, a corporeal phantom, a living ghost with stubbornly intact flesh.

The remaining people on the street look to him with accusing eyes, haunted with questions, hungry for answers. He knows what they would ask, but every shred of voice is lost within the overhanging miasma, words reduced to particulate matter and incomprehensible in the ears of those who were lucky to still be around. Luck. Something Tony knew he was blessed with, to still be standing and occupying the earth. But in the snowstorm of remains that loomed overhead, Tony could only feel that his continued existence was a curse. A curse of life, to still be around, when far too many, far more deserving, dissipated into nothingness.

_You may be a soldier, woman, child, or man…_

The crumbling visage of Peter fills his mind, and Tony can’t help but retch, emptying the few contents of his stomach onto the ruined sidewalk. He vomits blood and snot, plumes of dust rising from the pendulums of darkened spit that seep from his trembling lips. He had sobbed during the trip back to earth, seemingly without end. But now, all his body summons are shuddering coughs, his throat thick with the unimaginable.

A shaking hand comes into Tony’s vision as he is bent over. A young businesswoman in a soiled pantsuit offers him a half-filled bottle of water, her hair and face crusted with blood. She’s a stranger, but he knows that she recognizes him by the weight of her stare. But she doesn’t wear a sneer, or a fierce look of blame. Only one of understanding.

She reminds him of Pepper.

Tony froze, mid-grasp.

_But there won’t be many coming home…_

His clouded mind solidifies, a crystalizing realization that shatters across his chest.

His soon-to-be wife, his best friend…

Tony pushes off the pole, and shoves past the young woman, glassy eyes now wild with a new fear. In the desolate hell of the ship, there was only so much he could think about. He and Nebula had barely survived the trip back to Earth, and he could still feel the lasting effects of hunger, dehydration, and isolation. A blaze of red hair and a loving, bemused smile claims Tony’s vision, bolstering him into a sprint. Ignoring the protests of the stragglers, Tony made his way to Stark Tower, body burning with a bright pulse of adrenaline. He pries open the doors, ignoring Friday’s concerned brogue at his sudden, almost miraculous appearance.

_Now the glory is all gone. They are left alone…_

“P-pepper! God, Pepper, are you here?! Please, be here!” He screams, voice hoarse from disuse.

“Boss, Ms. Potts entered her private floor a few days ago. She hasn’t called for me, and I haven’t been able to get in contact with her due to the restrictions you’ve set in place. “

Tony connects his fist to a wall, cursing. “Why did she have me install those privacy settings!? She shouldn’t be alone, not in the Tower. Oh, God…”

“You were honoring her wishes for her own privacy, Boss. She felt comfortable because of it, just as you wish for my presence in your spaces.” Friday states softly, almost in a comforting tone.

Frantic, Tony grabs a crowbar from one his many workbenches, and starts to pry at the locked doors of Pepper’s floor, fingers screaming from the exertion.

“Friday, damn whatever privacy restrictions that are keeping me from this floor. _Burn down the fucking door if you have to!_ ”

“Boss, I don’t-“

“Now, Friday!”

“Yes, Boss.”

After a few moments, wires within the door began to pop, infected with a digital malady that Friday constructed. The door budges open slightly, and Tony rips it apart with his crowbar, running into the art-laden hallway.

“Pep, honey! Please, please be here! Can you hear me?!”

He wrestles open the door to her personal office, paying no mind to the splintering of wood and metal. Only a deafening silence answers Tony, settling into the marrow of his bones. Only the ringing in his ears exists within the tomb of the office, as he sees the state of Pepper’s desk.

The crowbar slips from Tony’s fingers as he utters a soft “Pep?”

A layer of ash coats her immaculate desk, trails of it lining across the carpet and leather office chair. Tony takes a step forward, placing his hand on the flat of the desk, splaying his fingers against the fine layer of ash that covered it.

_Oh, there won’t be many, many five out of twenty…_

He was too late. She was gone. Reduced to nothingness in the solitude of her office, while he had been in space. She had died alone. Because of him. Because of _his_ failures.

Tony falls to his knees, palms filled with her. Fresh tears slip down his face. “I’m so sorry, Pep. I tried- “His voice stops, as he notices a pink sliver within the cushion of her chair. It is a sickening contrast to the grey pile it resides in.

He picks up the plastic piece and cradles it to his chest, fist enclosing around it protectively. She had been holding it when she passed, likely waiting to tell him when he saw her again.

_If they all came back but one, he was still some mother’s son…_

Tony curls into himself, and just lies there, under the roof of her desk. He’s lost his family. All that was left was him. His one true fear, brought to life through his own inabilities and shortcomings. He presses the contents of his hands to his chest, the last vestiges of his family, of what made his life worth living.

“When I drift off, I will dream about you. I’ll dream about our family…” Tony whispers.

He lies there motionless, seemingly forever. He tunes out the calls of Friday, of his own body, as he settles into the solace of the dark. He drifts in-between various states, dancing between reality and delusion as his body begins to fail from hunger and thirst. He sees images of Pepper and Peter, still alive and smiling. He can’t tell if these are delusions, or simply memories, but Tony tries to hang onto them, for as long as his body will allow.

He sees the Avengers, his former friends and allies, and only wishes they had all more time. He even thinks he hears Steve, calling out for Tony. Tony gives a humorless, muffled chuckle at this, face half-buried within the carpet. He knows he is close to the end if Steve, of all people, is playing in his ears. God, how he missed his old friends.

_Maybe I’ll get a chance to make amends with old Capsicle._

Tony barks out another painful laugh at the thought of this. He knows where a person like him is going, and where people like Pepper, Peter, and his Avengers will go. A place out of his reach.

 _And rightfully so._ Tony thinks, feeling the dark pull of unconsciousness at the edges of his vision.

“Tony, where are you? Goddamnit, Stark, we need you!”

_Look real closely at the soldier, coming at you through the haze. He may be the younger brother who ran away…_

Distantly, Tony hears the familiar stomp of boots. The footsteps come to a stop, before Pepper’s chair is flung away from his body. Tony doesn’t glance upward, too weak to move his head toward the latest hallucination. A strong grip encircles his curled form, carefully pulling him from under the desk. Tony feels himself settle into the arms that are carrying him, a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes appearing before darkness.

“Stark? Tony…?”


End file.
